When they fall away from each other, there's an entirely new feeling in the air. The previous grating tension is gone now, replaced only with comfortable contentedness. Wonshik's hands linger on Taekwoon's hips, and they both revel in the peachy afterglow.

"I'm sorry," Wonshik says again when he releases Taekwoon, exhaling the breath he didn't know he was holding.

Taekwoon slides his hands into his pockets. "Don't be," he mutters.

"That was really stupid." Wonshik breaks into a nervous laugh as he bends to pick up his dropped water bottle. Turning away from Taekwoon, Wonshik sets the unopened bottle on the counter. He hunches over and rests his folded arms on the countertop, his entire body pulsating with embarrassment. "You can forget that happened," Wonshik mumbles.

"I don't want to."

Taekwoon's oh-so soft voice fills the kitchen, and Wonshik swears he can feel his heart break into trillions of tiny pieces. He buries his face in his arms on the countertop. Wonshik's head is a mess of thoughts and he gives himself an imaginary kick in the . What did he just do? He's not quite sure if he just started something, or ended something. "I'm an idiot," he whimpers, only loud enough for himself to hear.

He feels Taekwoon tug lightly on the hem of his shirt, and Wonshik crumbles inside. in a sharp breath, Wonshik straightens, coming eye-to-eye with Taekwoon.

"I don't… swing this way," Wonshik blurts. He thinks it's the truth—or at least, it was the truth up until about a minute ago. Wonshik runs a hand through his brown hair, feeling things begin to unravel. He tugs at his roots, horrified at the direction things are turning, Taekwoon and all his perfections and imperfections being the only thing his mind can focus on.

Taekwoon returns his hand to his pocket and hunches those broad, strong shoulders. "Neither do I," Taekwoon says simply.

Wonshik's eyes are fixed on the tile floor, his face burning, and Taekwoon's eyes are fixed on Wonshik, searching for the Wonshik from before, the kind and easy Wonshik that never made things awkward. Slowly, Taekwoon pulls a hand from his pocket again, reaching out for Wonshik. Wonshik's breath tightens in his chest as Taekwoon's fingers grab at his wrist, slipping ineffectively off his bare skin. It's a silent plea that Wonshik immediately understands, stepping forward and out of his sudden self-loathing to hold onto Taekwoon. Taekwoon tucks his face into the crook of Wonshik's neck, sighing quietly. It feels like the soft rustle of bird wings over Wonshik's collar bone and Wonshik's heart stumbles in an erratic rhythm.

"Just let this happen," Taekwoon says, wrapping his arms around Wonshik, his hands resting on the small of Wonshik's back. Taekwoon's voice sends tingling vibrations throughout Wonshik's body.

Wonshik inhales and opens his mouth to speak, but at that very moment, the apartment's front door slams open yet again. Taekwoon's fingers dig violently into Wonshik's back at the sound, and Wonshik hisses in pain.

"I forgot change for the laundromat," Hakyeon half-screams as he bolts into the apartment. A small flurry of snow follows him in. He freezes in the living room. "Oh my god," Hakyeon gasps. "I interrupted."

Faster than Wonshik can blink, Taekwoon is ripping Wonshik's arms off his body and rushing for the door, shoving past Hakyeon and snatching up his parka. Hakyeon looks back and forth between Taekwoon and Wonshik, utterly dazed.

"Taekwoon." Wonshik's voice comes out a tad too severe as he follows after Taekwoon.

Taekwoon straightens after haphazardly shoving his feet into his shoes, and he stares down the approaching Wonshik. "I'm going now," Taekwoon says in his ever-soft voice, eyes unreadable. He resumes gathering himself together.

"No you're not, you don't have anywhere to be." Wonshik grabs Taekwoon by the shoulders, forcing him to stop. The eye contact they make could send sparks flying, and Wonshik instinctually folds Taekwoon into his arms. Taekwoon feels as stiff as a board, and his book bag falls out of his grip with a light thump. "Don't be so flighty," Wonshik whispers, "It's just Hakyeon." He steps away and smiles gently.

"I don't want to be seen like that," Taekwoon says, side eyeing Hakyeon. Hakyeon's skin crawls, and he's too frozen to take just a few more steps out of the room.

Wonshik nods. "Okay." He takes two steps back, and it's visible that Taekwoon can breathe easier. Taekwoon shuts his eyes for a moment to take a deep breath, and Wonshik senses that it's time for a topic change. He clears his throat. "I never formally introduced you two," Wonshik says, taking Taekwoon gently by the arm, prying the parka from his grip, and leading him back into the apartment. It's almost painful for Wonshik, forcing the porcelain doll Taekwoon to do something—but Wonshik knows it's for Taekwoon's own good. Reluctantly, Taekwoon steps out of his shoes and follows Wonshik back into the living room.

Hakyeon's still paralyzed, a million thoughts running through his mind. He's terrified that he's ruined things for his roommate. Even though Wonshik's always seemed like a happy and passionate person, there was always something just below the surface that threw things off balance—a sense of loneliness, a sort of off melancholy. And Hakyeon thinks that maybe this guy that Wonshik's been showing interest in might be the key. Hakyeon gives himself a little shake as Wonshik approaches with a closed-off Taekwoon in tow, psyching himself back into his usual vibrant self. He grins and holds out a friendly hand for Taekwoon. "Cha Hakyeon," Hakyeon introduces himself. "I'm a third year graphic design student at the art university."

Taekwoon only stares disgustedly at Hakyeon's hand. "Jung Taekwoon."

Feeling off-put, Hakyeon yanks his hand back with a taut smile. "I've heard a bit about you from Wonshik," Hakyeon wants to say, but he bites his tongue. "It's nice to meet you," he says instead.

Taekwoon nods, glancing back at Wonshik and not replying. Hakyeon in a hissing breath, angry with himself for disturbing.

"I should go," Hakyeon laughs. "Before all the washing machines are taken."

Wonshik lets out a similar laugh. "Yeah." Hakyeon notices that Wonshik adjusts his grip on Taekwoon's arm out of the corner of his eye. "I guess I'll see you later, then," Wonshik says with a smile.

It's odd to Hakyeon to see Wonshik acting so formally, but regardless, he excuses himself with a bow of his head and dashes back to his room for the baggie of spare change he keeps for the laundromat. He can hear Taekwoon and Wonshik murmuring to each other while he's out of the living room, and when he passes through again to leave, Taekwoon is curled up in the armchair with a cigarette lit, and Wonshik is rummaging in the fridge.

The door to the apartment shuts as Wonshik straightens up from putting away the water bottle he didn't drink, and he groans.

"I'm really, really sorry about that," Wonshik sighs.

"Stop apologizing," Taekwoon snaps. "Your voice is hideous when you're apologizing."

Wonshik isn't quite sure how to respond, so he just slinks back into the living room and sprawls out on the couch. It's quiet for a long time before Wonshik says anything. He presses his eyes shut and gently massages his eyelids.

"Hakyeon doesn’t mean any harm," he says. "Don't be angry at him."

"I know," Taekwoon says, biting his lip. "And I'm not. I just… don't want other people seeing me touch another man."

Wonshik nods in understanding. He feels the same way, to an extent. Liking another guy is a strange feeling to begin with, and making his relationship with Taekwoon public is most definitely something that Wonshik is not comfortable with. Wonshik curls up on his side on the couch, eyes still shut. He likes Taekwoon very much, that's for sure—he might even love him. But Wonshik knows that both he and Taekwoon would never want to show the world how they feel for each other.

Wonshik heaves a sigh. Being adept at understanding social situations, he can tell that Taekwoon needs a distraction that isn't a cigarette. "Taekwoon," he says, opening his eyes. "Do you like to cook?"

Taekwoon shrugs, then nods.

"Let's make some dinner, I'm getting hungry."

When Taekwoon doesn't move, Wonshik pushes himself off the couch and shuffles into the kitchen again, searching through the cupboards to see what there is to eat. Wonshik tries to open and close the cabinet door as quietly as he can, thinking he might disturb Taekwoon. There isn't much in the kitchen—running a household on a student's budget doesn't always allow for a fully stocked larder. Wonshik finds a package of stove top ramen and holds it up with a smile for Taekwoon to see.

"How's ramen?" Wonshik asks.

Taekwoon doesn't reply—a natural response, Wonshik assumes by now—but after Wonshik turns his back to locate a pot, Taekwoon appears in the kitchen, his cigarette jammed carelessly into the ashtray, still lazily smoking. Wonshik smiles wider. He's found the path to Taekwoon’s heart, is seems. Wonshik fills the pot with water while Taekwoon fusses with the packaging and opens up the ramen, pulling out the seasoning packets and setting them aside.

Wonshik puts the water on to boil, and while Taekwoon waits patiently beside the cooking range, Wonshik disappears into his room for a moment. He returns with a sketchbook and a single HB pencil, settling cross-legged at the edge of the kitchen tiling. He flips to a blank page.

 "What are you doing?" Taekwoon mumbles, fidgeting with the serrated edge of a silver seasoning packet.

"Remembering you," Wonshik says, busily sketching out beautiful Jung Taekwoon standing in his very own kitchen.

Taekwoon looks away embarrassedly, his face flushing pink.

"I'd take a picture, but you don't seem like the type to be comfortable in front of a camera," Wonshik sighs, delicately outlining Taekwoon's profile and the gentle curve of his lips. Taekwoon casts him a long sideways glance.

"You're right," Taekwoon hides a smile by turning his face away again. "I hate cameras."

Wonshik chuckles. He knew it. Brushing away some graphite dust, Wonshik continues to sketch. It doesn't look quite right—naturally, though, as Wonshik thinks that there isn't any photograph or piece of art that could capture Taekwoon's aura.

Through Wonshik's focus on his sketchbook page, he hears a light, soft sound. It's warm and pleasant and almost golden in quality, like dripping honey. Wonshik closes his eyes to listen, and it takes him a minute to realize that Taekwoon is singing.